


no superman

by madfatty



Category: My Mad Fat Diary
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-05
Updated: 2015-07-05
Packaged: 2018-04-07 18:59:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 910
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4274415
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/madfatty/pseuds/madfatty
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>No saint, no angel, no superman, just a real-live fucked up boy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	no superman

**Author's Note:**

> This sort of fell out all at once after the show's finale and that almost never happens.
> 
> I am now, and will probably always be, an unashamed, unapologetic Finn Nelson empathizer and I’m pretty sure there is nothing that will change that, so you’re just going to have to deal. Having said that, you will get no argument from me that it was a dick move.

He should just go home and wait for Rae to come around in her own time but he doesn’t want to. He’s angry and fed up; with her, with himself, with the whole awful situation. And sad. So crushingly sad.

And then she’s there; that friend of Rae’s; _Carly?_ And she says she wants to talk about Rae. But that lasts only long enough for her to gain his interest. Too soon, she’s sitting way too close to him, touching his arm, his knee. He can see what she’s doing; can see she’s manipulating him, saying all the right things. He sees that she’s not Rae’s friend at all but he doesn’t care. Somehow, it makes it easier.

The way she’s looking at him is the way he’s been looked at ever since he started noticing girls noticing him. There is no pleasure in it for him, no pride. It makes him feel nothing, because it’s got nothing to do with him. Not really. He’s been here a hundred times before and he knows exactly what it means and though now he knows there’s so much more to be had, _– love warmth friendship security peace –_ maybe there’s forgetting in it, just for a little while at least.

He may be a little drunk and a whole lot lonely but it’s no excuse for the shitty thing he’s about to do. It all feels so wrong, he doesn’t know why he’s doing any of this and it’s a regret even before anything happens. It’s not inevitable, it’s not revenge, it’s not even desire. It’s stupid is what it is but he’s going to do it anyway. He can’t seem to stop himself. It’s not like _he_ decides, he tell himself, not really. He obliges, he acquiesces, he accommodates. Jesus, he’s already practicing his contrition. He’s such an arsehole.

He feels sick and hollow. She smells of roses, like his nan, powdery and synthetic; the bile rises in his throat. It’s a sick joke. It’s just one more punch in the gut, one more woman that he loves who isn’t here.

She doesn’t fill his arms, _– his head, his heart, his life -_ there is more effort needed to hold her and he doesn’t have the energy or the inclination.  
Dry lips pull hungrily at his own, her tongue sharp and awkward in his mouth. There is no rhythm, no divine dance heating his blood, heightening his senses, filling him with want and need and love.

Her hands are in his hair, at his back, clutching his shirt, his shoulders, his arse; impatient and demanding – there’s no feeling in her touch, only urgency and desperation. He could be anyone and he feels fifteen again and there’s no nostalgia in the feeling.

Her hips are unfamiliar lines, too sharp and narrow to accommodate his need. There is no softness to her, she is not pliant and welcoming; he cannot find an in, a comfortable resting place to settle himself against her. There is no substance to her, nothing to hold on to, nothing to dive into, to drown in. Nothing to swallow him whole. Everything his body has come to associate with desire is missing. She is lacking and he is left wanting.

It’s too much. It’s not enough. He pushes her away with little force. It’s almost as if she’s been expecting it; she steps back, breathless, eyes wide and blown and anxious. He shifts until there is sufficient distance between them. He huffs at the irony that distance is the only similarity between her and Rae.

It costs him nothing to look her in the eye and tell her to leave, that this isn’t going to happen. She starts to say something but there’s a noise at the door and he panics and pushes her towards the bedroom.

Then Rae is there in front of him, telling him she needs him, like he needs her and his heart goes out from under him. He’s barely had time to make the biggest mistake of his life before that life is about to come crashing down around his ears. 

Why couldn’t she say this in the car park? Why does she always walk away? Why does he always let her? Why couldn’t he be stronger? Why does he have to love her so much? Why does he always, always fuck things up? He can’t speak, can’t choose a single thought out of the maelstrom in his head, doesn’t know where to begin, or how to even start. And then she’s moving towards the bedroom and she can’t see… she won’t understand… he won’t be able to make her see. But she does see, and she knows, and he can’t hide it and he can’t say anything to save himself, to save her the pain, but he also can’t let her leave, not like this, not without even trying - and then he sees it, and if he thought he was hurt before, he had no idea what hurt was, because she’s hurt herself, he knows it. She’s done this to herself and he wasn’t there, he couldn’t help, he may have even been the cause and she’s angry with him and it’s better, yeah, than sad, and he knows he needs to say something but what can he say? How does he apologise for not being there for her, for hurting her? He wants to say… needs to ask… has to know… but she’s gone.


End file.
